I didn’t wait to find out. I gripped his wrists and whipped my arms down toward my waist. The same time I pushed down into the floor with my feet, driving my hips up into the air. A normal opponent would have been catapulted right over my head. He’d have landed winded and surprised on his back. This guy barely rose at all. Six inches at the most. But that was enough.
I rolled out, got onto all fours, and sprang up onto my feet. Mansour was already halfway up so I kicked him in the gut. The kind of kick that would send a football out of a stadium and clear across the parking lot. It flipped him onto his back. He sat right up so I kicked him again in the side of the head. He went over. Rolled away. I followed. He tried to get back on his feet. No way was he going to succeed. It was the first rule. When you get your opponent down, you finish him. No hesitation. No second chances. No mistakes. One more kick was all it would take. I pulled my foot back. Picked my spot. And heard the door open behind me.
“Stop.” It was a man’s voice. Raspy. Whispery.
It was Dendoncker.
* * *
—
The voice came closer. “Move, and she dies. Then you do.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Dendoncker was there, and he wasn’t alone. The guy in the pale suit was at his side, with his Uzi. Fenton was on Dendoncker’s other side. She was using an old-school wooden crutch to keep her balance. The cuff of her right pant leg was hanging loose and empty. She had a rope around her neck. The other end was in Dendoncker’s right hand. He was pinching it with his remaining finger and thumb. And holding a knife in his left. It had a long, narrow blade. Like the kind British commandos used in WWII. Designed for one thing. Killing. With maximum efficiency. He was pressing its tip into Fenton’s throat.
“Don’t listen to him.” Fenton’s voice was hoarse. “Kill the bastard.”
“He won’t.” Dendoncker’s eyes were glistening. “He went to a lot of trouble to find you. He wants you alive. And even if he changed his mind and decided you’re not worth it, he’s not a fool. He knows he’s quick with his feet and his fists. But he knows he’s not as quick as a 9mm bullet. And anyway, there’s no need for anyone to get killed. I have a proposition. Something very simple. Very straightforward. Agree, and we all get to walk away without a scratch. No one else will get hurt, either. So what do you say, Mr. Reacher? Would you like to hear my terms?”
Chapter 40
The truth was I had no interest in hearing Dendoncker’s terms. None at all. But I had negative interest in getting shot by his stooge. And I didn’t like seeing Fenton trussed up and held at knifepoint. I didn’t like that at all.
“Lose the rope,” I said. “Lose the knife. Then you can say your piece. Beyond that, I’m making no promises.”
Dendoncker wanted to talk in what he called his office. Getting there involved going through the double doors, along the glass corridor, and through the doors at the far end. The guy in the dark suit unlocked them. He held his keys up to a white square attached to the frame. I guess he had a transponder hooked onto his keyring. Probably like the one Mansour had when I searched him at the morgue, but I was too far away to be certain.
The guy didn’t go through. He stood to the side and Dendoncker stepped past him and pushed the right-hand door open. He went first. I followed, with the guy in the pale suit behind me. He was close, but not so close I could easily grab him. Or the Uzi. We stepped into another corridor. This one ran at ninety degrees. It stretched away, left and right, running the whole width of this half of the building. There was an exit door at each end. Their handles were missing. I guess they had to be. To allow for the steel plates that covered them on the exterior. One side of the corridor was floor-to-ceiling glass, facing the dining hall. There was a wall on the other side. It was plain white, with four doors. Two to the left of the junction with the glass corridor. And two to the right. Each door had a window. The glass was laced with steel wires and covered on the other side with newspaper. It was turning yellow with age. All the text I could see was in Spanish.
Dendoncker led the way to the right. Behind me I heard footsteps peeling off in the opposite direction. I looked over my shoulder and saw Mansour with his hand wrapped around Fenton’s elbow, guiding her away. It made her arm look like a tiny stick. She was moving freely enough, though. There was no sign that they’d hurt her. Which was fortunate. For them.
Dendoncker ignored the first door he came to. He stopped outside the next one. Worked the lock with a regular key. Went in and hit the light switch. Six pairs of fluorescent tubes flickered into life on the ceiling. There was a walled-off section to the right. It was square. There were two doors, marked Ni?os and Ni?as. There was a wide window and another door straight ahead. Both were boarded up on the outside. There was a chalkboard on the left-hand wall. It had been wiped clean. The place had been a classroom. That was clear. I could trace where the kids’ desks had been from the scuff marks on the floor. They had been arranged in a horseshoe, with the open end in front of the chalkboard. It looked like there had been five pairs on each of the other sides.